


10 Teaspoons of Pain

by Scrumpadouchus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: First Period, Mistakes were made, Other, Trans Character, TransJunkrat, helpiminhell, inthetrash, periodtalk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-24 20:59:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7522939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrumpadouchus/pseuds/Scrumpadouchus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It'd been over a year, and Roadhog didn't think being bodyguard and babysitter to a cracked ex-junker could get that much more complicated.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, he was wrong.</p>
<p>((Now slightly updated with minor edits! This is what I get for writing mostly at 3 AM))</p>
            </blockquote>





	10 Teaspoons of Pain

**Author's Note:**

> So.
> 
> I was essentially at gunpoint writing this fic. I don't even know how I feel personally about F to M Junkrat.  
> BUT MY FRIEND LOVES IT, and I give my life, not for honour, but for friendship. 
> 
> She convinced me to post this.
> 
> I'm sorry.

Honestly, Roadhog was beating himself up for not thinking ahead to this point. It _hadn’t_ occurred to him. Would it _even_ have been a logical jump to make? It didn’t seem like it. Who would say they would have ever made it out of the Outback? Thinking ahead to this point would be like being broke, and planning how to spend your fortune from a winning lottery ticket that you hadn’t even scraped the dollars together to buy yet. At the time he had often thought that the kid would die from his recklessness before even getting off this island hellhole and making it to the spoiled countries. 

Months ago, late at night when they were camping out Junkrat had cut off those rib-bending bandages from his chest and revealed no grisly wound and instead what –to him at least - must’ve been the darkest sort of secret.

Personally, Roadhog hadn’t given a fuck. Guy or girl, dick or breasts, he didn’t really care. In oz, gender and sex as part of your identity was so far on the backburner that people didn’t even bother to mention it – unless of course you were looking for service at a brothel. 

He had shrugged; it wasn’t any big deal. He threw the guy a second piece of road-jerky and said that if he didn’t want to get weird looks, he might as well cover himself back up. 

The jerky had hit Junkrat in the cheek, and he had stared at him in stunned disbelief for a second before his face cracked into a grin, laughing and puffing out his chest proudly, in a way that made Roadhog think he hadn’t done so in a very long time.

_Mind helping me out, mate? I think I tied it too tight last time._

Roadhog had helped, and managed to do a better job of it too. At least this time the guy’s ribs probably wouldn’t bruise.

Some part of him logically figured that if ‘Rat had the top parts, then his bottom would complete the set. But still, he didn’t think much of what that entailed. After that night, they didn’t mention it again and Junkrat went back to just being Junkrat, the twiggy twenty-something who took to being covered in oil and soot like a pig in mud and would vibrate excitedly when exploding something.

Now, half a year from that reveal, they were in some three star motel in Manchester – not too high class, but not filled with dirt either – on the bottom floor, in a corner and backside room reserved solely for them to lay low in for a few days. 

Roadhog had barred the door and drew the curtains while Junkrat had torn into their grocery bags like, well, like a starving rat. He wasn’t going to reprimand the kid, but it wasn’t like he was starving him. Ever since leaving Australia they ate like kings. Whether it be by stealing, intimidation or occasionally paying full price, they never skipped a meal, and he had watched ‘Rat shovel down as much food as he could fit into his gullet as if he feared he would never eat again. 

“Don’t touch the cream cake.” He growled a warning to the younger. He pulled across the chain lock and latch on the door, and double checked it. He had put in the effort of buying the last piece at the bakery and he didn’t want the glutton to tear into it before he even had a chance to look at it.

“Yeah yeah, I hear ya.”

Junkrat’s voice was all muffled and sounded as if he was spitting crumbs everywhere. Roadhog sighed. Turned back around and walked over to what was left of the food.

He flicked on the TV as background noise as they ate, browsing aimlessly for a channel. 

“Ooh ooh put on the one with the sharks!” Junkrat was spewing out more crumbs onto the carpet floor, meatball sub in one hand as he pointed at the tv with his bionic one. Roadhog wordlessly flicked to the discovery channel, and then started to dig into his store -made fried chicken.

The kid continued to babble as he ate, laughing and pointing out various things on the screen. Gradually, he went quiet, and Roadhog didn’t even notice till he realised he could clearly make out whatever the TV’s narrator was saying. He looked to his partner. Junkrat had set down his extra-large box of wedges, only a third eaten through, pushed himself off the bed onto his feet – well, foot and peg - and ran off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Roadhog shrugged. It wouldn’t have been the first time they got sick from stuffing themselves with food bought from random grocery vendors.

It was about twenty minutes of watching some documentary about some fancy rare birds in New Guinea before he heard from the small ex-junker again. There was a short, alarmed scream. Which normally would be enough to make him jump to his feet with his hook in his hand. But not here.

Still, he got off the bed and took a few steps towards the bathroom door anyhow.

“Roadie.” Junkrat sounded sick to his stomach. Maybe the meatball sub had been bad. “- Shite. Roadie, I think I’m gonna kick the bucket.”

That was more worrying, but only slightly so. Junkrat was known to exaggerate. The man had once wailed and whinged for seven hours straight when they were unable to find any milk tea with boba. He was willing to bet this was along those lines.

He turned around to return to the bed. Junkrat, perhaps sensing his disbelief, spoke out again.

“Really, ‘hog. I… fuck, I’m bleedin’. Must be internally. From the radiation, right?”

This gave him pause. Bleeding internally? The guy had been sick back in Oz, radiation sometimes causing ulcers along his tract and when it would flare up it would cause fits of vomiting until all Junkrat had left was bile mixed with blood. But besides a few hours of curling over a toilet bowl or a hole in the ground, and going light on food for a few days, it hadn’t exactly caused death. It felt more like dehydration and the feeling of going through a particularly rough flu. 

“Are yeh coughing up blood?” He hadn’t heard any sort of retching, but perhaps Junkrat had gotten better at hiding it.

“Nah, more loike…” There was an embarrassed pause. “The other end. And my gut, it hurts loike that time bird-nose kicked me in my gut with his steel-toed boot. Remembah?”

He did remember. The junker formerly known as Bird nose had gotten a hook through the cheek for that one, and then his jaw got ripped out. After that, Junkrat had hobbled around like a hunchback for two weeks, and the bruise had been spectacular. He was lucky nothing had been broken.

Simply saying ‘the other end’ left a lot to interpretation. Roadhog knew he would hate himself for what he had to ask next.

“So, yer bleedin’ out your…” He took a breath. “-your… “ and stopped again. He had seen the guy’s breasts before, and flashes of his down below, but he felt like mentioning it was taboo. 

He could almost feel the air become heavy, the awkward silence from the other side of the door drifting over to poison his side of the room. Roadhog heard rustling and sounds of fidgety movement.

“Fuck, mate, do I hate to say it??” The ex-junker spat. “I’m bleeding out of my fucking cunt! I’m dying and you’re fucking givin’ me the third degree!” Junkrat’s voice was starting to rise in both volume and panic. “Fuck! This far from Oz and the outback is still working to stop us. Fuck, fuckin’ shit.”

Bleeding from his… parts. 

Roadhog was heavily tempted to turn around and walk back to the bed, continue watching the fancy-ass birds and their complicated as hell nesting procedures. He hadn’t needed to pay mind to these things for years. Back when he had a mother, a sister, female friends from school. How was 'Rat only just getting it now? He had thought this was a pre-teen sort of deal. But, the scrawny ass kid had lived off of scraps, adrenaline and fear for almost his whole life. Just skin, bones and tight muscle, exposed to a steady wave of radiation his entire development. No-one had really looked into the long term effects it would have, besides the obvious assumptions of sterility or cancer. What had his health book said about females and periods? He should have paid more attention in class; not just mocked the teacher’s skirting around of _delicate_ topics and drawn inappropriate pictures in the margins of the paragraphs.

“Yer not dyin’.” He grunted, and started to slowly string what he needed to say in his mind. He thought that he would never have to have this talk with anyone – did a good job avoiding that sort of thing so far. Unfortunately it seemed like any Gods out there were laughing at him, seeing they thought it fit to have an awkward forty-eight year old man teach sexual education to a bi-polar, trans twenty-five year old.

“The fuck do you know?! Yer not a doctor! What do you know about inside bleeding!??!” Junkrat hissed. “I’m dyin’, I tell ya! The radiation poisoning is finally gonna finish what it started.” He trailed off into a wail. “Jus’ leave me to dieeeeee.”

Roadhog already felt his patience growing short. Rat doesn’t know better, he reminded himself. The extent of his knowledge with this stuff was probably hearing crude sex jokes from men in bars.

“It’s normal. It’s supposed to happen to all – “ To all girls? To all women? He couldn’t say that. The man had enough issues as it was. 

“ – To all people with a- “ Just say it. It’s a simple word. One syllable never felt harder. “With a cunt.”

Silence.

Then Junkrat was raising his voice, sounding very unamused.

“You’re shitting me mate. There’s no fucking way! D’you think this is funny?! This ain’t funny, Roadie.” 

He could hear more fidgeting on the toilet seat, and the sounding of anxious fingers tapping. 

“There’s no way all sheilaghs bleed like this. They’d die of blood loss!”

“Yer not dead.” Roadhog pointed out.

“Thas different! I’m used t’bleedin’! Been getting fucked up since I was young. How do all the gals not die then, huh? I’m tellin’ ya, it doesn’t make sense. No-one bleeds for no reason!”

Can’t argue with that logic. 

Roadhog decided that this was as much as he could hope to accomplish that night and backed off. The fancy-ass birds and a slowly melting cream cake were calling.

As it turns out, Junkrat was determined to breathe his last breaths in the bathroom, and stayed there the entire night. He only unlocked the door once Roadhog started pounding on it the next morning to get in to take a shower. 

He stayed curled up on the floor the entire time, and Roadhog had to step over him as he went about his personal hygiene routine.

Dumb kid.

He drew back the curtain, then stepped out of the combined shower and bath and wrapped a towel around his waist. He stepped over his companion. 

“Yer’ turn.” He grunted while poking at the ball-that-was-Junkrat with his big toe.

“Nhmrn.—nooo,” the kid whined, turning his face away. 

“Yer’ not staying on the floor forever.”

Junkrat had his mouth covered by his good arm, and was gnawing slightly at it. He voice was muffled. 

“Just fuckin’ watch me.”

How did this become his problem? He should just leave him there on the hard, tiled floor. He knew that being bodyguard for this man was like being a babysitter, but for it to get to this extent? For fucks sakes.

“No.” He growled. “Yeh smell like shit.”

It was hard enough to get Junkrat to bathe regularly, so the smells of soot, oil and gasoline tended to linger and mix with the more organic smells of singed hair and sweat. It built up over time and then attacked with a vengeance. In the outback, nobody cared. Not smelling bad was considered stranger, and painted a target on you. Clean people had money. And more importantly, _water_. But here, it only served to draw attention. It didn’t help that now the smell of blood and hormones was added to the signature _Eau d’Junkrat_ , and made it at least three times worse.

“Your bedside manner is charmin’ mate.” Junkrat snapped. “Of course I smell like shit! Get used to it. I’ll smell worse when I finally die.”

“No. Take a bath.”

He waited for the other to respond. A couple impatient seconds ticked by as the smaller man seemed to contemplate what to do next.

Then Junkrat stuck out his tongue.

Any patience he had evaporated. Roadhog had enough. He grabbed Junkrat by the legs; the man started shrieking and trying to kick at him, and all the while Hog wrestled to get the man’s prosthetic off without breaking it. He hoped nobody called the front desk to report them. Things could get hairy.

“Shut. Up.” He growled. He could feel the threat rumble in his chest. Junkrat shivered, and stopped fighting. 

“Awlright mate. Y’never led me wrong before.” He floppily threw out his omnic arm, did a dramatic gesture, and let it fall limp to the floor. Roadhog went to unfasten it. “Just drown me in the tub for all I care. It’d be better than dyin’ like this.”

“Fer the last time. Yer not dyin’.” He placed both prostheses to the side where they would be unlikely to get wet.

Junkrat didn’t reply this time. Just kept himself limp and kept his face turned away. Well, looking away from his mask.

It was easy work then to take off the stained tank top Junkrat wore to appear as some semblance of a normal person. The elastic bandages were next. He stopped, fingers freezing in place just above the material. Junkrat still had his head turned to the side, refusing to look at him. His pause must’ve been noticeable, because Junkrat mumbled; “S’okay. You can take ‘em off.”

Good enough for him.

He undid the clasp and the safety pin, unwrapped the bandages from around the small torso and threw them to the side in a heap. He’d tell Junkrat to roll them back up later. Maybe it was time they go out and try to find a proper binder. Either that, or surgery. Though, he must say that ever since he started helping Junkrat put them on, the damage had been less.

Roadhog dreaded having to remove the other’s shorts. Junkrat had just been moping in the bathroom for the last fifteen hours, alternating between the toilet and the floor. Had he just been bleeding into his boxers all this time? Damn, did he have to go buy him supplies for this too?

“I should get paid more for this shit.” He grumbled. Then he bit the bullet and lifted the man up slightly with one hand, pulled down his shorts with the other. 

Surprisingly, Junkrat had the foresight to stuff his boxers full of toilet paper. There were pieces sticking out by the waistband. How effective it was, that was still yet to be determined.

“Wanna take those off yourself?” He didn’t fancy getting period blood on himself. Normal blood, he’s long been desensitised to. Besides that, he’s had his boss’s blood on him more times than he can count. But this felt a great deal more personal, and he if was being honest with himself, a great deal more gross.

Junkrat nodded, and scuffled to hold himself slightly up with his bum limbs while using his good arm to work at his boxers. Roadhog looked away from the spectacle – _the kid was way too comfortable with that now_ – and took the curtain out of the bathtub. He popped the stopper in the drain, and turned the handles to blast. He watched the tub slowly begin to fill up. 

“Are ya gonna help me in or aren’t cha?” On the tile, half curled up to cover himself, Junkrat was scowling. “Hurry the fuck up!”

He leaned over and lifted up the younger man, under the legs and under the back, and quickly deposited him into the tub. Junkrat cursed the hot water for a few seconds, but quickly settled, sinking down with a thoughtful look, breathing in the steam. 

It was fogging up his mask. 

His job was done. 

He took a facecloth from a rack and threw it into the tub. Then turned and went for the door.

“Turn off the water when it’s deep enough.” He looked back to man in the tub. “You got soap?”

“Yes, _mom_.” Junkrat sassed back, all sing-songy and sour. Roadhog rolled his eyes. The younger always acted out when it came to baths. Was he truly twenty-five? It seemed more like he was four sometimes.

“Don’t drown.” He replied flatly, and left the bathroom.

Freedom. For an hour at minimum. Junkrat had trouble with baths, but knew that he’d be forced to take a second one if he didn’t do a half-way decent job the first time. So at this point, he could assume that the kid would be in there for a while, struggling to lather shampoo into his hair and occasionally swearing when soap got into his eyes.

_What to do, what to do._

TV was an option. A boring one. He hated to admit it to himself, but TV was more entertaining with Junkrat pressed to his side, making a running nonsensical commentary about whatever’s happening on screen.

He could leave. They had enough food for a few more days, but without ‘Rat he could go shopping without worry that something nearby would mysteriously combust. That was an idea. A good one. He could buy books, could buy… certain feminine hygiene products. The only problem would be that he had to be fast. Junkrat – understandably so – hated being left alone for too long. It was surprising that he wasn’t already running his mouth, trying to hold a one-sided conversation through two inches of wooden door. 

The spare room key was on the bedside table. He grabbed it. He opened up one of their large duffel bags, took out a wad of cash held together with rubber bands and pocketed it. 

“Be back in an hour. Don’t drown.” He directed his voice through the door, and paused for the reply.

“…You’re leaving?” Junkrat sounded very meek. Roadhog regretted even telling him at all. Maybe he wouldn’t have noticed if he had just left without saying anything? 

Nah. The man would’ve noticed the second he left and flipped his shit at his supposed abandonment. He would return to the whole motel in explosive-induced shambles. It was best to tell the truth. 

“You’ll be fine. Don’t be loud. Don’t fall asleep in the tub.” He unbolted the door leading to the outside, and took one step out. “Be back in an hour.” He repeated, in case the other had misheard. Junkrat seemed to be in a low type of mood. If he was lucky, Junkrat would be quiet for an hour in the tub, and not climb out and proceed to beat their motel room to pieces in some sort of anxious frenzy.

“…Okay. Have fun. I’ll just stay here. And kick the bucket. Alone. In the tub.” 

The tap was still going. Roadhog wondered whether he should remind the other to turn them off. It would be like Junkrat to leave them on until the tub overflowed, purely out of spite.

“Turn the water off.” He grunted. “And yer’ not gonna die.”

He heard grumbling, but the taps turned off.

_Good_ , he thought to himself, and then left out through the door, locking it behind him.

  
  


He drove to the nearest shopping centre. He had on what Junkrat would call ‘normie clothes’, which pretty much equalled wearing a shirt for once and forgoing the gasmask. ‘Rat wasn’t here with him, so it wasn’t as weird to take it off. Nobody else would be poking or touching at his face, gasping or staring. Or at least, no more so than usual. 

The mall was crowded. It’d help him blend in, or that was what he told himself. It was pretty hard for a guy like him; seven foot three, all five-hundred and fifty pounds of him to go unnoticed. He tried slouching and hunching over more, like how Junkrat normally did.

First things first. He needed to get information. 

He walked till he saw a bookstore, and tried to slip in without catching the eye of any of the workers there. 

To the back was the home and healthcare books. He tried to make it look like he wasn’t heading to that section, and then ducked low so the top of his ponytail couldn’t be seen over the shelves.

Teen health books. Roadhog cringed at their flashy covers. They reminded him of a bunch of shitty paperbacks he would find in ruined gas stations back in Australia. Their covers had been weather beaten and in some cases torn off, but sometimes enough was left for him to get the gist of it. The stories in those books had never really suited his tastes. He wasn’t sure if that experience transferred to this, but he figured that in the case of books, some things were always universal.

He started with the plainer covers first; _The Body Book for Girls_. Nope. _All About Girl Stuff_. Nu-uh. 

He almost winced at the next title. _The Feelings Book_. Junkrat could do with a few less of those. Maybe he should check out a _Psychology for Dummies_ book next.

_Period. A Girl’s Guide_. That one seems straightforward. He picked it up and was about to flick through it when a worker walked past the aisle, did a double take and doubled back, heading straight for him with big fake smile plastered on her face - as if it made him believe she wasn’t terrified of him.

“H-hello, sir. Can I help you?” She didn’t wait for an answer, and immediately cued in on the book held in his hands. “Ah, got a daughter at that age, huh? It can be a pretty, uh, pretty overwhelming time. Did you need any recommendations?”

He regretted ever coming to the store. He should’ve just grabbed some free pamphlets from a health store and left it at that.

“No.” He said gruffly. The woman visibly flinched. He knew he sounded more than a little hostile, so as an afterthought, corrected himself.

“No _thank you_.”

The saleswoman looked to relax a little.

“W-well, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask!” Her voice got a little squeaky at the end, then walked as fast as she could away from him without making it into a run.

Roadhog watched her go, then sighed. Placed the book back on the shelf. Even if he did buy a book, Junkrat wasn’t the best reader. He’d end up having to recite the whole thing to him aloud, like some sort of fucked up bedtime story. He wasn’t being paid enough to go through that.

Pamphlets it was, then.

He laid the book down on the nearest shelf, and exited the aisle. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the saleswoman point at him and whisper to a cluster of co-workers over by the check-out counter. He left the store as quickly as possible.

Next stop, logically, was a drug store. He’d already burned through nearly a half hour. Being back to the motel on time was crucial. If he was late, even by a little, Junkrat tended to get a little bit… anxious. 

This was an easier task. He remembered the basics of this sort of thing very vaguely, info obscured in the shadow of some past life as a different person. Like the kind of person who would go out and purchase things for his mother if she was taken by surprise. 

Thinking of it that way, it seemed he still was the same sort of person. That didn’t sit well with him. He shook his head to derail that train of thought.

It wouldn’t be too hard. He just needed to grab some... he floundered for the name. He peered at the blue packaging. Absorbent sanitary pads. There were brightly coloured boxes near the pads. Tampons. 

He just grabbed both kinds, in two different sizes. On his way to the check out, he impulse grabbed a four pack of drumstick ice cream and a large fabric covered hot water bottle, and dropped them all onto the check-out counter in front of some pimpled teenage cashier. 

The teen smelled of sweat and fear as he checked him out. The sop couldn’t make eye contact while asking if he wanted to pay with cash or card.

For the first time in a while, he paid full price. He wasn’t going to make a scene. Not worth it, not even for the cheap satisfaction of intimidating an easy target. He circled by the in-store clinic; there was no pamphlets regarding anything relevant to his cause. Deeming that part of his trip a failure, he bee-lined out of the mall, two bags held in one hand. They were put in the sidecar of his bike. He checked the time. Twelve minutes to get back.

He hoped the motel room wouldn’t be too trashed this time.

When he parked the motorcycle and unlocked their door, the room was empty and somehow, everything seemed to be as he left it. Not even any scorch marks on the bedsheets or carpet. Was he still in the bathtub?

“Junkrat.” He stopped just outside the bathroom door. “Still alive?”

There was a grunt. He took that as a yes.

“Are y’still in the bath?”

Another grunt. He was being petulant. Junkrat never liked being left behind.

“I bought ice cream.”

There was the sound of water sloshing from the tub to the floor, and then a loud thump. 

Then, a few more expletives on behalf of Junkrat’s extensive vocabulary.

He opened the door and was greeted to the sight of Junkrat lying face down on a wet floor. Tub still full, still steaming. 

Without much ceremony, he pulled two towels off the shelf and dropped them onto the wriggling man on the floor. Junkrat started rolling around in them until he was essentially trapped inside, a living burrito. Roadhog stepped around him and pulled the plug out of the drain. The water was surprisingly clean for bathwater Junkrat had been sitting in for the past hour. And it was still hot. Had he been actively adding and draining water out of it for the past hour?

The prostheses were mercifully still dry, and were still where he had left them. When offered to Junkrat, the man waved aside the leg.

“Jus’ the arm’s good enough, mate.” He wiggled around and freed his stump arm from under the towels, and stayed still long enough to allow Roadhog to attach the fake limb. “Now, what’dja say about ice cream?? Did you buy a tub?”

“Cones.”

“Cones?? I dunno about that, do I like cones?”

“You liked cones from that truck.”

“Alrighty.”

Junkrat rolled back around and started dragging himself out towards the main room. Roadhog reached down and grabbed the smaller man around the torso. Junkrat made a tiny squeak, more like a mouse than a rat as he was tucked under Hog’s arm like a rug. 

The younger was deposited onto the only bed; he bounced for a second and made a sound a lot like _oomph_.

“Oi. What about my clothes??” 

The bags were still by the door. Roadhog brought them over, and tossed a pair of boy shorts and a tank top onto the bed. That was all he was getting for now; the younger man would ask for pants and his bandages when he wanted ‘em. Rat had freed himself from the towels by now, and started pulling on the boy shorts. Normally it’d be boxers, but he doubted you could fix it so that a pad would stay in place.

“Wait.” Roadhog held up a massive hand. “Put one of these in there.” He took the package of pads from the bag and tossed it back over onto the bed. Junkrat’s mouth went round and he ripped into the blue wrapping like a savage animal.

“What are they??!” He pulled a bunch out, and soon the whole bed was littered with them. 

“You put ‘em in your underwear. It absorbs the blood.”

“Holy shite!” Junkrat’s eyes were shining. “This is right kenny! Where d’ja get these? Did you go to a doctor??”

Roadhog shrugged. In his excitement Junkrat didn’t question it, too intrigued by the weird squishy squares. He peeled one yellow square open, took the soft, spongy item from its backing and stared at it with distinct curiosity. After turning it around in his hands a few times, he pressed the sticky back to the crotch part of the underwear, and proceeded to shimmy into the shorts.

“This is much better than bathroom paper.” He grinned, and was bouncing on the bed in place excitedly. “Wow, people here must be sick a lot for them to invent something like this. I ain’t complain’, though.” He poked at a different wrapped pad near him. “Mighty convenient.”

Roadhog decided that tampons would be introduced another time. Not that he knew how they even worked. Yes, he could understand the gist of the idea, but he would never be able to properly explain the process to someone who actually needed to use them. He hoped there was an instruction sheet inside the boxes. Junkrat was good with diagrams and drawn instructions. He’d be able to figure it out.

The distraction didn’t last long. Junkrat kicked a bunch of the pads away from him and onto the floor. The once neglected tank-top was snatched up and thrown on.

“Now where’s the ice cream?”

The box of drumsticks was opened and left on the bed. Junkrat grabbed two at once, and Roadhog left him to it. No doubt his side of the bed would have gross, sticky ice cream stains after this. He grabbed his own ice cream and turned the discovery channel back on.

From what he could pick out from Rat’s babbling between loud slurping of the ice cream, during the hour he was gone his boss had noticed that his gut didn’t hurt anymore. Being the ‘brilliant mind’ he was, he discerned that it must be a side effect of breathing in steam. So he had stayed in the tub and kept the water hot.

“M’not even gonna bother putting back on the bandages,” he said, “’cause after this I’m jus’ gonna climb back into the tub.” He paused. “Maybe even sleep in there tonight. Y’think that could work?”

That was a tempting offer if he ever heard one. A whole bed to himself, all that space, for the first time in over a year. The risk of Rat accidently drowning during the night was a bit too high to justify that, unfortunately. 

“You can’t sleep in the tub.” 

“Wha?”

Junkrat’s good mood completely reversed. The switch had been flipped. “Last time I checked, I was the boss. Who are you t’deny my last request?”

“You know why.”

His boss watched him for a moment, then looked down and started grumbling. “It’d be faster than waiting for whatever the fuck this radiation is doing.” He dropped the dirty ice cream wrappers off the side of the bed, scowling. He manages to watch a few more minutes of myth busters in sulky silence, not even piping up to complain that the explosions were _‘boring’_ and _'too tame.’_

Slowly , his face became more tense, and his hands more finicky, picking and scratching at the skin on his good leg. He eventually curled up onto his side, groaning.

“I shouldn’t have ate.” He whined, rubbing his face back and forth against the bed sheets. “I gotta go back to the tub. Can I bring my launcher in with me this time?” 

Roadhog had seen this behaviour before whenever Rat was uncomfortable. He’d try to direct his attention to different stimuli in the hopes it would distract his body from whatever was ailing it. The fix should be the same as for what it was for the phantom limb pain.

Junkrat flinched when Hog reached over without warning. No point in taking offence to it. It was a natural response to getting approached while vulnerable. After a second, Rat still seemed confused, but then relaxed enough to let Hog roll him onto his back and push his knees out of the foetal position to gain access to his stomach. He started massaging with gentle pressure, pressing his fingertips in and moving them around in a clockwise motion. Junkrat was staring at him, watching his fingers move for a good half minute, his pointy face showing a conflicting mix of contentment and uncertainty. It finally got its act together and settled into just looking uncomfortable. Rat laughed then, short and awkward.

“Uh, mate, I’m sorry t’tell ya, but I’m not exactly in the mood to mess around right now.”

Alright. That was it. He was done. Hog growled under his breath and moved away, getting off the bed so quick that the mattress bounced, eliciting an ‘OI!’ from the younger man.

He grabbed the hot water bottle from the shopping bag, went to the washroom, and turned the hot water tap in the tub onto blast. Once the water was steaming he filled up the bag, closed it, and dropped it back into its fabric sack. It had a repeating pattern of red birds on it. Now it would be the smaller man’s source of physical comfort. He was tired of trying, at least for now. 

Back in the main room, he walked back to the bed, sank back down onto it, and dropped the bag onto Rat’s gut, who yelped. It weighed at least ten pounds.

“The shit is this?” He lifted it up and pulled back the fabric flap to peer inside. “A hottie? What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Stop whining and put it on yer gut.” He remembered hearing females in his old life praise hot water bottles to high heaven. 

His boss took it and put it on his stomach, then curled back into his former position on his side. 

“Ooooh. It does help.” He squirmed about to get more comfortable, ending up a few inches away from the larger man. “Thanks Roadie. Really.”

He squirmed closer.

“H-hey, I was jus’ joking before about the messin’ around. If ya wanna give me a rub again, I won’t complain.”

Roadhog looked down at his partner. Junkrat was grinning sheepishly up at him, and wiggled his eyebrows while his good arm was still clutching at the hot water bottle like he was drowning and it was a life preserver.

He rolled his eyes, looked back to the TV, and turned up the volume.

  
  


Five days later the ordeal was over. Junkrat emerged from the bathroom cheering, declaring that he had survived the most recent attempt on his life, fuck radiation, it could suck his dick.

Roadhog had checked a calendar and made a mental note of the date.

Three weeks and one country later, he got to experience the joy of Rat wailing that his sickness had come back with a vengeance, and it seemed it would once again be the end. It went faster than the first time, and slightly smoother. They just holed up again, tinkering and ordering crappy take-out until the worst had passed.

By the fourth time, the fifth time, Rat didn’t even bother to mention it besides asking for more ice cream and grumbling a bit about his sickness acting up. Hog assumed that that was as good as they could hope for when it came to him coping with his new found affliction. 

_Weird that it happens around the same time every month, huh? Rat had said. You think this is somethin’ tha’ can be cured? Maybe we should find a doctor, get ‘em to run some tests. What if it’s some new disease they haven’t found yet? I could sell it to them for research. Easy money!_

They never did get around to doing that. Their next run in with any kind of medical professional had been many, many cycles later. 

He had thought that the plan had completely left the younger’s mind, until his week came and they were at headquarters, prepping before a mission. Mercy had come into view from down a hall and Rat’s eyes had lit up. _Be right back_. He had saluted and ran off, flailing his limbs and yelling at her to wait at the top of his lungs.

Roadhog watched as his partner excitedly bounced in place, doing many wild gestures while standing in front of the poor Swiss woman. Junkrat was just barely audible – and Hog couldn’t make out what Mercy was saying at all. 

He gestured injecting something into his arm. The woman shook her head. Junkrat pulled out what looked to be a piece of notebook paper from his pocket, waved it around while continuing to talk animatedly, then finished by pointing at his stomach. Mercy took a step back and pointed at her own stomach, then started talking with her own hands, holding out her fingers and pointing at them one at a time. She grabbed something off a nearby desk and took Junkrat’s paper - looked to be drawing something on it while she continued to talk.

Roadhog shrugged and started to wander around; picked up some discarded newspaper with a coffee stain on it and started to flick through it half-assedly until he heard; “ _YOU’RE SAYIN’ THAT THIS SHIT IS NORMAL??! FUCK!_ ” 

The shrill yell was echoing through the building. On the other side of the room, Tracer looked up from her pistol cleaning and stared down the hallway at the two, face displaying a mix of curiosity and confusion. She then looked to Roadhog, as if expecting a proper answer. He simply shrugged.

Then, a few seconds later, another yell rang out; “ _WHATTAYA MEAN, THIRTY-FIVE MORE YEARS?_ ”

Despite himself, he smiled under the gasmask. It was just as funny as he imagined it would be. It wasn’t long before Rat was slowly making his way back towards him, dragging his peg-leg a little and looking almost… embarrassed, if such a thing existed for him.

“Uh, sorry mate.” Rat brought his organic hand up and scratched his neck. “I shouldn’t have doubted ya. ‘Seems you were right all along.”

Hog allowed himself to wallow in self-satisfaction for a moment. It was very rare that Junkrat would admit he was mistaken about anything. This was something to be cherished.

“- If you had doctor trainin’, why didn’t you say so before?? I would’a believed ya if you had said!”

He stared at his twiggy partner. Thought about life for a good, long second. Then decided that it just wasn’t worth it. 

One week later, they came back from supper to see a book shoved under their dorm room door. He knelt down to look at it. A sticky note was attached.

_Hope this helps – Mercy._

Hog ripped off the sticky note. A familiar blue book looked back at him.

_Period. A Girl’s Guide_.

“What’cha got there?” Junkrat was looming over his shoulder, squinting down at the writing.

“It’s for you.” Hog said and stood back up, took a few steps away. Junkrat snatched the paperback off the floor and glared at it like its entire existence offended him. The written word generally did.

“Gah, I hate reading. Can’t I just catch it on fire instead? I doubt it’s about anythin’ important.” He dangled the book between two fingers, holding it over a lighter in his other hand. He flicked it on.

“Whattaya think, Roadie?”

Roadhog grunted. 

“Yer probably right.”

Rat cheered as the book blackened in the grip of his prosthetic hand. Roadhog watched it turn into ashes and drop between Rat’s metal fingers. 

Eh, it was fine. S’not like they would need anything like that again. That dark period of discovery in their lives was over. He doubted they had any major surprises left in terms of physical development.

Hopefully.

**Author's Note:**

> ...HTML is truly hell on earth. 
> 
> I was unprepared to do what needed to be done to format this, so it's not what I wanted. BUT OH WELL. WHO NEEDS INDENTS ANYWAY, FUCK 'EM I SAY.
> 
> Major thanks to my best friend (leafeonfortuna on tumblr), who dragged me into this hell. She also was responsible for the formatting.  
> (Thanks bae, you the best.)
> 
> Time to crawl away into the void after my only contribution to this fandom.  
> ((I'M SO SORRRRRRRYYYYYYY))


End file.
